


To Love the World

by Tokine



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:42:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3642207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokine/pseuds/Tokine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem, Robin learns, with loving the world is that the world loved her back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Love the World

Robin tried to live her life filled with love. Now to be fair, her conscious life (re)started only a year and a few months ago, so she had little time to mess it up terribly yet. She’d only known a lifetime of war, however, and peace was merely a hopeful dream she’d only read about in books. But in spite of the war, it’s her friends that help her put on a cheerful face and face her problems ahead. After all, the morale of the army depended on her confidence as chief tactician. It would have never occurred to her before that the love and support she received from the Shepards would one day become a source of frustration and not of healing.  
  
It started with the fleeting attraction of Ricken. Robin had found it splendidly adorable the newly aged teenager’s first crush had been on her, and always found time to spend with the stammering mess of the boy on whatever silly situation he’d constructed so they’d have time alone together. It was the subject of amusement and fascination for the camp, with Gregor teaching Ricken ridiculous pick up lines with hearty slaps on the back, and Miriel nearly interrogating the boy into fright as she followed him around and logged the most mundane and superficial actions for her research. Despite the deaths and close calls that shook the company, it was reassuring to see life carrying on as it would during peacetime. Even Panne allowed herself a smile for her silly human counterparts, but vehemently denied to anyone who asked the night she’d given Ricken a soothing brew and listening ear as he aired his confusion to the taguel. His confession, or as Robin liked to consider it, the beginning of the madness soon to sweep the camp, was nothing but sweet and wholesome, the boyish dream of wanting to show her the world he grew up in, once the war was over, and to take her to fairs where he could demonstrate his manly prowess by winning her goldfish in plastic bags and teddy bears. Ricken was the simplest one, and the only one Robin could look to as a memory not tinged bittersweet. He asked not of her to declare her undying devotion, to look at him and only him, nor of Robin to pledge her life to him. No, he asked for a chance, that’s all, a chance to see if any of the brotherly love she had in her heart for him could ever be romantic. That was the only time Robin had ever felt comfortable enough to disclose her unfiltered feelings to the potential suitor, and the rejection was swift but sweet nonetheless. A certain calm pervaded the boy afterwards, and a new sharpness and accuracy came about to his spells. It was as if his body was rejoicing for finally getting the not so secret confession off of his chest, and their friendship grew to greater heights because of it. She remembers the pride she felt when Ricken had that look in his eye again, except this time for the sorcerer with an abundance of crow related puns, and thoroughly enjoyed being the listening ear for both parties as their romance flourished and bloomed despite the harsh conditions of Plegia’s desert. Yes, the incident passed with little fanfare, and Robin supposed that would be that. Never would she have imagined it would only be the start. 

  
  


The first time she hears those words of devotion that are every little girl’s dream, she knows it isn’t a joke anymore. It’s from the exalt, of all fairytales, and it’s the most magical setting one could find- summer in Ylisse really is beautiful, and the soft blinking of fireflies and the crackle of the fire in this secluded little clearing in the forest paint the night to be an enchanting one. Under a backdrop of twinkling stars, Chrom had poured his heart out to his tactician, complete with stutters and placeholders awkward enough for Robin to piece together the thoughts that flitted around her head. She realizes she’s a little runaway, a fleeting little wisp of the flame she thought she was, because she can’t even bring herself to deny the flustered man in front of her. Instead, she runs, because this isn’t fun anymore, this isn’t what she wanted, and it takes months until the strategy meetings run properly again and Frederick stops giving her disapproving glares over Chrom’s head. She’d thought, but she’d thought wrong, and for all of her knowledge- even Miriel would defer to her for all manners of study barring calculus- it seems the intrinsic knowledge most are born with simply evaded her. It’s frustration and vexation, and all she can do is hope, hope, hope everything goes back to normal again. It’s funny that she longed for the simpler days of the war now, where there wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel, and all she had to think about was her strategies and making it through to tomorrow. Just how long had she missed the wayward glances, the lingering touches, the smiles when she wasn’t looking? Grasping her sides with fingernails deep enough to break skin, she curled herself into a ball and desperately willed herself to get smaller and smaller, wished for her mind- ever clever, ever versatile, to think its way out of the emotional labyrinth she’d lost herself to. Robin was hope incarnate, holding confidence in one hand and faith in the other, but even she had her limits. But perhaps, she hoped, as the sun began to rise on the sleepy horizon, she hadn’t reached them yet. This was just something that had to pass- they were close friends, and surely the extended period of war had brought Chrom to his limit. Yes, he just wasn’t thinking straight, that was all, and confusion just disguised itself as love. Robin could dream anyway, and self deception was much easier than dealing with the truth. I’m tired, she thinks, but sleep does not come easily this night, nor the next, nor the night after.

  
  


It’s during her nighttime wanderings that Robin literally stumbles upon Olivia practicing. After apologizing profusely and helping the pink haired girl to her feet, she managed to coax the girl into performing for her. It’s a marvelous show, as it always is, but today Robin is more captivated with the peace and quiet confidence that dictated the girl’s movements. Olivia sees this in her tactician’s eyes, she sees a girl in a woman’s body, scared and contained and looking for freedom despite the war and love of her comrades that kept her trapped.  
  
“The trick,” Olivia leans in, conspiratorial even in the deserted part of camp. She’s almost drunk with confidence seeing the weakness and adoration in the tactician’s eyes. “is to pretend. Pretend it’s effortless, pretend you’re a bird and that you’re free,” The widening of Robin’s eyes on the word free was almost comical. Jackpot. “and everyone will assume it’s as effortless as it looks.” The wind swept the dancer away, and she let it, danced away as the wind took her, because in that moment she was doing what she loved and had thrown off the self imposed shackles of self doubt and questioning. Unfettered and unrestricted, free in the freest sense of the word. It’s awe inspiring, and Robin almost questioned if they had another spell caster in their midst. But no, it was Olivia’s performance personality, the complete opposite of Olivia’s normal self that Robin found herself aspiring to be. Free, she thought to herself, like a bird. She would fake it, fake it until she found the key to freedom from her thoughts. It was funny how the prospect of finding something that would let her sleep kept her up at nights. She grew frenzied, the conversation replaying in her head over and over as the one release she sought escaped her.

  
  


Sometimes, Robin thinks, she misses the Frederick she met in the meadow. He was a silent man, even after discovering Robin wasn’t a traitor, and fulfilled most of their mutual tasks in silence. It wasn’t until after an accidental moment of bonding- involving bear meat and Frederick being surprisingly inattentive of the fire- that they really talking. Although she really does appreciate Frederick’s backwards way of caring, of his relentless fitness hours and the hazy burn of her muscles that formed into strength, sometimes she just wants the quiet reassurance of the older man. Wants to read a book beside him maybe, take a break from the maps of battlefields strewn all around her quarters while he knits in companionable silence. But sometimes, she wants the pain. Sometimes she gets up even before the sun, seeks him out by the quiet crackle of the campfire, her cloak discarded and a wild look in her eyes, and he knows.  
  
“Hey, you up for a spar?” They square off and let loose, and with that Robin is free, if just for an hour or three or however long her endurance will last her. Her whole body burns like Miriel had gotten careless with her casting, but that beautiful, addicting pain means she doesn’t have to think anymore. It’s almost easy to forget her responsibilities when it hurts hurts hurts to just breathe and it’s a wonderful thing. Dangerous too, because even she’s started noticed Libra’s disapproving quirk of his lips when she staggers into the medical tent, a reproachful Frederick not two paces behind. His unspoken question, Where have you been and who let you do this to yourself?, remained unasked. She laughs at the look on his face at the blood dripping down her arms and the bruises adorning her knees. It’s a new kind of accessory, she tells him, and laughs because she’d rather have laughter than tears. Robin knew the wise priest already understood, probably more than she understood the situation. But it was release of the sweetest kind, a dirty little secret she knew she could trust Frederick with, and every night her body tells the secrets- of the worry, fear, incompetence she felt- that her lips would never reveal. Frederick answered too, in his own way, his eagerness to listen to the feelings she’d pent up for so long. He matched her blow for blow, and she’d never felt so free from the responsibilities that pinned her down, so safe with the trustworthy, devoted Frederick that would never develop feelings for her. And Robin more than made up for her draining the medical supplies- her swordplay skills reached new highs, and her endurance on the march inspired others to endure as well. Despite the company admiring and praising the newfound strength of the tactician- with the invention Nowi’s new favorite game called ‘hang from Robin’s biceps’- neither Frederick nor Libra approved of Robin’s new coping mechanism. She’d heard them arguing about it once, the voices of the reserved men sharp.  
  
“Don’t enable her. She’s going to wear herself thin if you keep letting her carry on like this.”  
  
“You think it’s easy picking her up after she’s collapsed from fighting for so long? I’m frightened to see what she’d do to herself if I wasn’t there to supervise. The fact she comes to me at all is a wonder of itself. I wouldn’t like to see her mindlessly run off and challenge a horde of Risen.”  
  
“The fact you keep letting her is a wonder of itself.”  
  
“But you’ll keep healing her every time she does it, won’t you?”  
  
“Frederick, you know that I know. I can see the affection in your eyes when you hold her, your backwards pride in being the only one she’ll confess this weakness to. She doesn’t know how to cope with her emotions, and you’re being selfish and allowing her to hurt herself just because you want the chance to hold her one more time.”  
“You would not dare to suggest-“  
  
Robin walked away.  
  
The nighttime visits stopped.  
  
She’d been too trusting! She’d gone and hurt someone again, just because of her selfish desires, and somewhere along the way she’d have to hurt Frederick again because she couldn’t love him back. She was stupid, stupid, stupid, and her stupidity had ruined everything again. She runs every night, but it’s not enough, it’s never enough, because grief weighs down her feet and responsibility’s swift feet always catch her. The nights drag on, sleepless once again, and Robin once again finds herself stuck smiling through the tears that plague her every night.  
  
"Robin." Panne's little grunt surprised her. Although the taguel had warmed up to the tactician first, and a few others later, she was still quite reserved. Indeed, even now, the taguel met only her eyes, and refused to look at the few others milling about. Most were finding their way back to their tents, now that the evening roast was over and Olivia and Inigo had tired of dancing by the fire. "Will you see me to my tent this evening?" This was definitely odd. Panne rarely entertained visitors, preferring her brews to remain untouched and the place was a sanctuary of sorts. Indeed, the walk there was silent, and the taguel walked in a dazed way, like she wasn't quite there. It wasn't until they had found their way inside that the older fighter began to speak. Threading her fingers through her hair, she began. "Robin, do you know what braids signify in taguel society?" Robin blanched. The few books that spoke of taguels painted them to be vicious creatures. No one cared for their social infrastructure, and the taguel's oral history traditions shrouded the majority of their history from human knowledge. Sensing the younger's distress, Panne smiled, going on. "It's quite alright, I know the books man writes are not kind to my people. Braids," she continued, working the braid out of Robin's hair with the same practiced ease she did her own, "are used to signify marital status. Warriors keep their hair long, but they braid it as I do so that they can retain their honor and still fight. The little ones wear their hair long too," A sigh. Robin couldn't imagine what it felt like now, to have to recount her childhood memories, so sweet, only to remember how her childhood slipped away, stolen by disease, death, and human greed. It was the little things that mattered the most, children playing together and running back home for dinner to their families, or watching two people fall in love and marry, and age peacefully, with every year the laugh lines crinkling their face becoming a little more imprinted. Panne seemed to remember something important, and removing herself from her past returned to the conversation at hand. "As tradition held, my mother would braid my hair as I wear it now. She would talk to me then, and would teach the old stories and pass down clan wisdom. She knew that I was popular for my battlefield victories and that I would be coming of age soon, and many would be seeking me out as a mate. When I did take a mate, it would be expected of me to not wear my hair in braids anymore and I would stop fighting. Many tried to court me, including those who fought alongside me in battle. Even the chief's son fought duels to impress me." Robin was slowly starting to see where this was going. Enraptured in the mysterious taguel's story, she could only listen on. "But I did not want to stop fighting. I felt I had a duty to protect those that had raised me. For her part, my mother accepted my lifestyle, and it was not until there was constant smell of man nearby my warren making everyone nervous that she changed her tune. She told me to take a mate, and quickly, before the battle arrived, because we knew even a win would not come without heavy losses. Filled with confusion that turned to rage, I left the warren in favor for the woods and I ran without fear of death despite the volumes of men moving throughout the forest. The next night, when I returned, my warren was returned to ashes." The fingers combing through Robin's hair had stopped. It seemed like the world had stopped for a minute, the cruel world showing one last respect to the species it had destroyed. But then Panne spoke again, and the world ran on to the beat of her muted tone and words that fell like raindrops from her lips. "We have more in common than you think, Robin. I too sought that freedom that you wished for, and I chose the world instead of one person to show my love too. I have only one request I can ask of you." No. Robin couldn't - wouldn't- do what she asked for. Steeling herself and finding the words, Robin could only wait in horror as she pleaded for that request not to be asked for. If Panne asked for her to marry, she would, because to dishonor this woman would be to dishonor the taguel that had come before her. "If it makes you happy, I would like you to keep your hair in braids just as long as you would like." Naga truly was on Robin's side tonight. How funny it was, the one person least likely to understand had known her better than she’d ever known herself. She looked down at Panne's handiwork and saw her hair loosely plaited, just as the taguel wore her own.  
  
"Thank you Panne," she whispered reverently, relief and joy etched clearly on her face. The decisive battle would be soon, she could feel it, and Panne didn't want her to make the same mistakes she did of running away.  
  
"You love the world too much. It is man's greed that wants to steal that light of yours for his own. But rest now, there will be battles to fight tomorrow." The taguel shifted into her rabbit form, curling around the younger girl. Briefly, Robin wondered if that was how the woman had slept with her mother in the warren. The warmth lulled her to sleep easily, and for once dreams do not plague her rest. 

  
  


Robin is Grima. Robin is Grima and she should have known, because in her own way she’s been doing the dragon’s work, wreaking havoc and discord throughout the camp. The strategy meeting is vital, critical, and Robin knows it’s a very real possibility that it’ll be the last one she ever has.  
  
“I still love you, you know.” Chrom’s words are sweet, it’s more of an exhale than a confession, and it’s the sweetness of it all that hurts. It’s like he breathes her love in, and it revitalizes him, like she’s the god he worships and the air he breathes. He grabs her wrist, and Robin is powerless to fight- she’d trained for every kind of attack but this one, and it seems her weakness is always there, the gaping hole in her armor, their affections that she can’t return.  
  
“I have a war to fight.” It’s not denial, but it’s close enough. With a mind of their own, her fingers rise to toy with the braids threaded around her head. She’s fire and she’s fury, but the camp can’t deal with weakness right now. Keeping morale high is critical when they know in a few short hours they will be dealing with the god of destruction attempting to ravage the land. Chrom seems to forget that, to forget himself, because even as she retreats to her tent he follows her and speaks for anyone to hear.  
  
“I love you. Frederick loves you. Ricken once loved you romantically, and he loves you still. You’re the only woman Lon’qu will talk to. Tharja follows you around, I once caught her reading about love potions while intently smelling your socks,” Robin felt an odd surge of affection for the dark mage. While she had made her intentions perfectly clear, Robin also felt that Tharja had an unrivaled amount of respect for her and her decisions. She wondered if Tharja was close, planning a curse for the prince despite Robin insisting before that Tharja promised not to curse anyone in the camp. “Gaius practices baking pies with Olivia so that he’ll give you the perfect one. Miriel has been training and studying even more than usual because she knows just how fascinated,” his eyes flash, jealousy bubbling and boiling up, “you are with those second and master seals. The problem isn’t that you don’t love me, or anyone, it’s that you love all of us and so I’m hopeful and hopeless at the same time.” She can’t get away from him. He’s the embodiment of all the responsibilities that chased her, and have always been, the thief who stole her sleep away in the night and left her only with grief.

  
  


“That’s enough Chrom,” she snaps at him, and morale be damned because they’re down the rabbit hole anyway. He takes it as a challenge, takes the fact he could elicit an unfiltered, unmasked emotional response from the girl as a victory, and opened his mouth to go in for the kill. He doesn’t realize he’s being dragged away until he’s gone. Lissa is a hurricane whipping around him, and Maribelle’s stare, leaden with disapproval and disappointed, was difficult to hold. He managed to gasp out a sound that vaguely resembled a ‘huh?’.  
  
“Well big brother, I figured I’d give your ears a little inspection and your eyes too. Clearly my big brother, the king of Ylisse, had some kind of bodily function problem and totally was not just ignoring a woman when she said no.” Chrom sometimes forgot little Lissa was royalty, but this tone, so sharp and commanding sent shivers down his spine. Lissa whipped around faster now, an angry dance to the sharp sounds of jars and equipment being banged around. The angry whirlwind was only stopped by the hand Maribelle placed on Lissa’s shoulder. She seemed to find herself again under Maribelle’s calm, and to Chrom, the silence was much more frightening than the cacophony of before.  
  
“Chrom, we understand that emotions are running high before this final battle. But know that your behavior sets the standard for the camp.” Maribelle was put together as ever, but the sharpness of the implication of her words spoke volumes for the rage rearing its ugly head inside her. Being reduced to this level was much worse than any shouting rage Lissa would have responded with. “I take it you will be retiring to your tent for this evening?” He was helpless to disobey the unspoken order in her tone. Chrom walked as if he was one of the Risen, his body alive but inside lifeless, a lumbering shell where a human once was. He didn’t see the bags under Lissa’s eyes, red and puffy, nor hear the reassuring murmurs Maribelle whispered in her ears. He didn’t see Minerva, curled up in front of the entrance Robin’s tent with a watchful Cherche casually sharpening her axe, nor hear the dramatic readthroughs Sumia was doing of the latest novel she’d read to Robin who sounded like she was laughing through her tears. Later that night, he didn’t see Nowi and Panne romping around the camp, while Cordelia and Sully took turns giving Robin rides trying to catch the shapeshifters. But Robin saw, saw how when she loved the world this was the love she wanted back, the love she treasured and cherished and lived for and would die for. Her final night, she decided, was a bittersweet one, but sweet nonetheless.

  
  


It’s incredibly selfish. Robin can’t believe herself for doing it, but dammit if she won’t have this final wish. It’s not final, it might not be final, she has to remind herself, but in the back of her mind she knows. Ylisse needs their noble king, and the royal tacticians will be able to keep the Shepards safe. Knows she won’t let Chrom make that sacrifice. It’s incredibly selfish, but she needs to monopolize the priest’s time for just one hour, to unload her sorrows to find absolution so she can be free. Her feet guide her to the chapel tent, her body knowing the way even in the pitch darkness that pervaded the camp. It’s almost sad how Libra had set out two cups of tea in his tent, and looked up at the soft thumps of her footsteps, as if he had been expecting her. By way of greeting, he merely put his rosary beads aside and waited for the words that Robin couldn’t seem to find.  
  
“I’ve done a bad thing,” She whispered, still threading the fold of the tent through her fingers. “Am I really allowed in here?” And she’s never been so surprised by hearing the laugh of that man, a rich and hearty thing, and it’s like a treasure that’s been saved for only the situations that need it most. She almost forgets to storm out. Or attempt to anyway.  
  
“My child,” He said, and perhaps he’s part manakete too because the words are heavy and the priest seems as old as Tiki. “You alone have taken thousands of lives, and been the cause of death for millions more. You’ve lied, been tempted by Grima and gave in, in another life. You’ve even managed to enchant a fair few of our comrades, including the king of Ylisse himself, and denied them all. But do you know why when you die, Naga will open you with open arms?” Robin couldn’t think of a reason. Having her record laid out plainly like that frightened her, with both its accuracy and severity. Her relation to Grima should not have been such a surprise. “Because for all the mistakes you make, you do make every one of them with a heart full of love. You love the world, and your curse is that the world loves you back.” Despite the words, Libra’s soothing voice lured her into the tent further. She sat down, curling up against Libra’s solid warmth as the priest went on. “Soldiers die for you by the dozen, and yet hundreds enlist every day. The pegasus riders would fly into a cloud of piercing arrows for you. The knights jump in front of magic spells, and the mages in front of swords just so you don’t have to take the hit. There isn’t a Shepard here who wouldn’t stand in front of you and take a killing blow if it meant you would make it out alive.” The guilt weighed down upon her, drawing out a shaky sob from the girl. She’d done so little to command that respect, that unwavering loyalty, but there it was laid out in front of her, the gift she could not refuse.  
“Can you absolve me of my sins?” There, a glimpse, the closest anyone would find of the toddler version of the tactician, the one who saw the world in black and white and certain truths. Libra felt pity, once again, for the girl whose greatest gift was also a curse. That unfiltered, unbound love that spread to every life she’d touch was intoxicating, and even the more experienced romantics- the ones that fell desperately in love and knew heartbreak as an old friend- could not fully resist the pull she exuded. Libra himself felt the pull. He knew, however, the art of self-denial. This girl would break if she realized the true lack of limit her inner charisma possessed. So he says nothing, knows the girl- the woman now- won’t realize her sin was a gentle one. No, she’d most likely be meeting Naga tomorrow at the climax of that most important battle of defeating Grima once and for all. He hoped then that the girl’s inner turmoil would finally be resolved. It always seemed funny to the priest, in the sad, ironic sort of way, that the most enigmatic characters, the strongest people, the brightest flames, were always the ones to be extinguished first. So he says nothing and instead lets her cry and prays to Naga for the third time that night for this woman who knew only how to love.

  
  


It’s almost too easy for Robin to challenge herself. The masses of enemies parted for her, realized some forgotten piece of her has authority over them, and she glides through the battlefield, striking down the brave few that dared to get in her way. It would take just this one act of defiance to save both the world from Grima and Robin from herself. It was almost too easy to submit to the darkness. It’s easier, much easier, and she completely understands how, in another life, she chose this particular ending. Her body goes limp and her eyes slip shut- just like a dream. It didn’t even feel like defiance anymore. It was the sweetest surrender, this martyrdom, because the world would never know the selfishness- the lack of want to deal with the sheer amount of love in her heart- that pushed her to this decision. It would be easy, to give it all up and stop fighting, even easier when it was for the sake of Ylisse and the world as a whole. But what about the good times, the last fighting part of her asks? What about the laughter and the sunrise and the dances by the fireside? But her heart isn’t in it, her heart only remembers the loss and sorrow of this terribly long thing called life, and as she is finally overtaken by the alternate version of herself, she smiles.  
  
“Do you love me?” She asks Grima, herself, she doesn’t know if a line distinguishes them anymore.  
  
“No.” The answer was everything she did and didn’t want to hear. Ambivalent to the end it seems.  
  
“A pity then, because I love you,” A pity, because her love wrecked things. It took and took and took, and when broken hearts asked for retribution, she ran away. Her love was the rock solid foundation the army was built on and the disease eating away at the core. She raised her sword. “And because I love you, I’m going to end this.”  
  
She drifted through a hazy dreamland. Her friends were there, sometimes happy, sometimes sad, but always there, and their presence was comforting but disconcerting. They spoke to her as if in prayer, asking for her to wake up, whatever that meant, to return to her. She continued to drift through her thoughts, her unwavering belief in providence allowed her to be manipulated as faith put her on the right path. It hurt sometimes, as she viewed her memories, and she had so much pity for the other version of her, the one who was hurt enough to be driven to the point of selfishness that allowed her to wreck the world. It was an ironic little thing, that her love was the reason she’d destroyed the world once. As the memories slowly became more recent, it was clear that her time in this self-reflective little dreamland was over. Naga had given her strength and the time she’d never had to consider what she wanted, now that the war was over it was time to make a decision.  
  
The first feeling she distinctly remembers is the thickness of the air. It’s like she’s been deprived and then thrown into surplus, and her body was overwhelmed by the change. Slowly, she takes stock of her body and starts feeling the parts slowly become automated and alive: flexing her fingers, wiggling her toes, eyelids fluttering, gaining the strength in her midsection to pull her body up to a sitting position. Finally, her eyes adjust to the light, a harsh blinding thing quite the contrary to the soft candlelit glow she knew before. Even with her eyes shut, she feels the verdant flora beneath her fingertips, and it’s the reassurance that life has gone on and the fell dragon was destroyed that makes her force her eyes open. It’s just as beautiful as she remembers, and she does nothing to mask the euphoria that overtakes her, dancing in her eyes and widening her smile, a happy sort of electricity on the tips of her finger. She leans her head back and throws her arms out, embracing the sky.  
  
“I love you,” She whispers to the world.  
  
And the world loved her back.


End file.
